


Sssnakation

by Mraowface



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Amorous snake Crowley, Comedy of Errors, Crowley goes on Snakation, Crowley is a sexy snake though, Crowley to the Rescue (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, No Actual Bestiality, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Sneksual tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 08:50:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20721488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mraowface/pseuds/Mraowface
Summary: Crowley hates the cold of winter, so Aziraphale arranges for him to take a snakation.  His customers get entirely the wrong idea about where Crowley's got to





	Sssnakation

Crowley sat on the bookshop sofa, and shivered wretchedly. He was not made for this temperature. He wrapped a third blanket over his head, and glared at a customer who’d glanced in his direction.

Aziraphale wandered over. “Poor dear. I made you some coffee, it’ll warm you up.”

“Thanks, angel. I need to get out of this place. Can we go away somewhere? Somewhere hot…”

This worried Aziraphale. Crowley looked absolutely miserable, but leaving the bookshop? He had cataloguing to do, and that lovely illuminated bible with the slightly inappropriate pictures to look through… Now was not a good time to go away.

The angel paused. “I’ve got it! You just leave everything to me, dearest.”

****

Two days and several oversized parcel deliveries later, Aziraphale’s surprise was ready. He led Crowley through the bookshop, with strict instructions to keep his eyes closed.

“Ok, you can open them now!”

Crowley’s eyes lit up with delight. In front of him was an enormous vivarium, radiating heat. Aziraphale had vanished several surprised bookshelves, and replaced them with a huge open-fronted habitat. It had desert sand, smooth rocks for basking on, no less than three heat lamps (Aziraphale was taking no chances here) and, tacked up on the back wall, a photographic view of the Great Pyramids.

“It’s beautiful! And _warm._ Angel, you’re the best.” He paused to smack an excited kiss on the angel’s lips. “I’m going on snakation!”

“Um?”

“Snakation!” Crowley was practically hopping from excitement.

Aziraphale was unimpressed by Crowley’s enthusiastic butchery of the English language, but it was gratifying how well the surprise had gone down.

“When would you like to go on your - your…”

“Snakation,” Crowley supplied.

“Um, yes. Do you want to go now?” Aziraphale looked a tiny bit worried.

“I’ll go tomorrow. Leaves me tonight to express my gratitude…”

Aziraphale’s mood cleared immediately. “Splendid! I’ll open a bottle or two.” It would be an excellent evening.

****

Aziraphale sighed contentedly as he lifted the heavy snake into his enclosure. It was like being in the Garden again. Crowley made a beautiful serpent: black scales, with the occasional burst of copper.

Snake-Crowley eagerly slithered around his holiday home. Aziraphale had thought of everything. A lovely big slab of a rock for basking on, with cave underneath for hiding in. Dried out branches for draping himself over decoratively. Beautiful golden sand that felt so good against his scales.

The angel beamed at his excited snake. This was going marvellously already. Crowley glided over and flickered his tongue over Aziraphale’s hand, evidently in agreement. He was emitting a soft hiss of approval.

****

Aziraphale was surprised to find it was quite restful living with Crowley as a snake. He still talked to the demon for several hours a day, and the snake would hiss back, winding himself around Aziraphale’s arm affectionately. He’d bring the snake a coffee, and they’d sit and have afternoon tea together. It was quite delightful, even if he did occasionally miss Crowley’s sarcastic comments.

Having a large snake free roaming (when Crowley got bored of basking under his heat lamps he’d go for a slither round the shop) had its ups and downs - it seemed to attract more customers but, as none of them seemed inclined to buy anything, Aziraphale permitted their presence. And Crowley was happy to wrap himself round the cash register and hiss, if it came to it.

By the fourth day, Crowley had regular admirers. Aziraphale felt a mixture of pride and jealousy when he realised this, and brought the demon three potted succulents for his enclosure. Crowley did like having something to hiss at.

On the fifth day, one of the regulars cornered the angel.

“I’ve not seen your friend around in a while. He’s not come down with something, has he?”

“No, he’s um…” Aziraphale cast around for the right words, while snake-Crowley hissed something that definitely meant ‘snakation.’ “He’s - he’s gone on _holiday.”_ Aziraphale was gratified that he’d come up with a more human-sounding explanation.

The customer kept chatting for a while, but Aziraphale had become absorbed in watching Crowley undulating around a branch. Was it just him, or was the snake slithering… sensually?

Forgetting about the customer altogether, Aziraphale turned to talk to the demon. “Crowley dearest, we’re in public! Do try to conduct yourself more… properly.” He tenderly stroked the snake’s scales. “I love you very much.” And he kissed the serpent’s smooth head.

The customer (real name Megan, hereby referred to as Conspirator A) sidled off to confer with Conspirator B (Misha), who was lurking in Inaccurate Numerology.

“Does he seem… ok to you?” asked Conspirator A.

“Weird as always! Why, did he say something odder than usual?”

_“He’s talking to the snake like it’s his fricking boyfriend!”_

“Welp,” was Conspirator B’s only response.

****

It was day six, and things had Gotten Weirder. Conspirators C and D (the Cliftons) had witnessed Aziraphale lying half recumbent on the sofa, admonishing the snake for writhing all over him while he was taking elevenses. Not only that, but _the snake had tried to undress him._

“No, said Conspirator D to the huddled Conspirators A, B and C. “That’s definitely what I saw. And he’s still calling the snake Crowley!”

“Isn’t that…?”

“Yep.”

The group fell silent. They had all previously considered Mr Fell to be a few sandwiches short of a picnic, but this was something else altogether.

“Do you think he’s delusional? Boyfriend leaves him, he can’t handle it?”

“Could be. _Something’s_ up with him, for definite.”

Aziraphale ambled past the Conspirators, who all displayed a sudden interest in the shop’s large collection of vintage Bentley manuals. It was so _nice_ how the customers were keeping from bothering him this week, and they were even speaking in respectful whispers!

****

On day eight, the Conspirators regrouped in the Bluebell Cafe, two doors down. The bookshop was ‘closed for lunch’ (it was a little after 10am), and would not in fact open all day.

“I think he’s gone nuts,” said Conspirator B firmly.

“But he’s always been nuts!” The other conspirators nodded in agreement.

“This is different. Ever since his boyfriend _vanished,_ he’s been absolutely mental.”

“He didn’t _vanish,_ he went to Egypt!”

“That’s what _Fell_ says. I think something _much more suspicious_ is going on!”

“Have you been spending too much time in Niche Conspiracy Theories?” asked Conspirator A, the voice of reason.

“No I have not! And I’ll tell you another thing, _I don’t think he’s coming back!”_

“They can’t have split up. They’re devoted to each other!”

“Not split up. Dead,” said Conspirator B darkly. He’d been waiting his whole life for a moment to be this dramatic.

“Don’t be daft,” said Conspirator C. “They broke up, and Mr Fell replaced the man with a snake. It’s thingmy, transference. He’s transferred his affections onto the snake. Yesterday he was feeding it coffee and reading it poetry!”

“You think he’s in love with the snake??”

“Look, the whole thing’s fucking weird. You’ve been in that shop, _anything_ could happen!”

The Conspirators sagely nodded. This was something they could all agree on (well, Conspirator A was a bit less convinced, but it was free entertainment and she was quite keen on the theatre of the absurd).

“So he’s either killed him, or he’s having some kind of a psychotic meltdown. Or both,” summed up Conspirator D. “How do we know which one?”

“We _investigate,”_ said Conspirator B triumphantly. And so they did.

****

The next day, Conspirators B, C and D descended upon the bookshop. Conspirator A had to work for a living.

Conspirator B searched the shop for clues. Conspirators C and D were keeping an eye on Aziraphale, while leafing through a well-thumbed book on the secret language of flowers (Aziraphale had been very keen on getting that one in).

After ten minutes of investigating, Conspirator B triumphantly scooped a pair of broken sunglasses out of the bin by the cash register, and bore them across to Conspirators C and D.

“Signs of a struggle!” This was in fact the case. Aziraphale had been struggling to maintain his balance while wrangling an increasingly amorous Crowley snake, and had sat on them.

“I guess he _didn’t_ go on holiday,” said Conspirator D. They all looked with concern at Aziraphale, who was happily sat by Crowley’s enclosure, reading A Confederacy of Dunces aloud and laughing at the good bits.

Later that day, when Aziraphale had ambled off to find a spot of lunch, the group reconvened around the vivarium.

“We ought to _do_ something!” whispered Conspirator C. “Poor Mr Fell clearly needs help. All he does is talk to that snake. And this morning he was letting it bite his neck! God only knows what will happen!” (God did not in fact know. She was having a great time observing, and munching celestial popcorn, metaphorically speaking).

“We should talk to my aunt,” chipped in Conspirator D. “She’s a psychiatrist, or used to be at any rate. Maybe she could come and assess him.”

“Well I’m going to speak to my brother. He’s a community support officer with the police. We need to take this to the authorities.” Conspirator B nodded ominously at the snake, which had been coiled up very still on its favourite rock, apparently asleep. “Have you noticed that thing hasn’t eaten all week? Maybe it’s _digesting a big meal!”_

“You don’t mean-“

“It ate him!”

****

The following day was a Saturday. Conspirators B, C and D had hysterically marshalled their forces. Conspirator A came along for the ride.

“Mr Fell! We need to talk to you,” confronted Conspirator B. “What have you done with Mr Crowley?”

“Oh, he’s just gone on a little _holiday. _ He’ll be back soon enough, he just wanted to see the pyramids,” beamed Aziraphale. Crowley had promised to change back within a fortnight, and the angel had been happily stocking up on hot water bottles and electric blankets in anticipation.

_“What have you done with the body?”_ Conspirator B was growing impatient. The PCSO brother was showing no signs of arresting Mr Fell, or even questioning him.

“Hmm? Well if you want to see Crowley, he’s back there. I would ask you not to interrupt him though, he’s basking, and he might get a bit tetchy.”

The psychiatrist stepped up to the plate. “Mr Fell, you are aware that your partner hasn’t been seen in over a week? Dealing with loss can be a struggle, but there are people here to help.”

Aziraphale looked taken aback. “No, no, everything’s fine! We’re really quite happy here! Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some papers to attend to…”

He backed away, wringing his hands. The customers were behaving very strangely today, and he wanted to talk to Crowley.

The intervention party followed. It was painfully clear to them that Mr Fell couldn’t be left on his own. They marched through the stacks.

“Hi guys,” grinned Crowley. He was stretched out languidly on the sofa, surrounded by tartan hot water bottles, and very clearly wearing nothing but an electric blanket and a pair of sunglasses. “I’m back. Hi, angel.” He blew a kiss.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale was delighted. “You came home early!”

“Had to keep you out of trouble.”

“Where have you been?” Conspirator B interjected. He was not happy at the sudden appearance of the alleged corpse, alive and well.

“Ssssnakation,” he smirked. “I saw the pyramids.”

“Well,” said Aziraphale brightly. “I think that’s everything wrapped up. Now if you’ll all excuse me, the shop is closed!”

He ushered the confused Conspirators out of the shop, locked up, and hurried back to his beloved Crowley.

They kept the shop shut for three weeks. It was heavenly.


End file.
